Tag Archives: sports

A Little Boy’s Dream, Part 2

When Nigel started wrestling two months ago at his high school, I was elated and optimistic. This, as I wrote previously, was something that he’d wanted for a very long time, and he made it happen. Surely that meant that this was the beginning of great things in his life, that this would be his niche, that by junior or senior year I’d be attending state championships and even nationals with him, filming him as he won matches, cheering, crying with joy that he achieved success on his own terms.  I could see it happening. I could almost feel it. I wanted it for my son. But I knew that his first season would be a time of learning, since he hadn’t wrestled before, and I had talked with him about not feeling bad if he lost a lot of matches his first season. I told him that I had heard from other parents that their sons lost a lot of matches their first season, but they just kept practicing, and by their second season, they were winning matches.

The season is now two-thirds of the way over, and he has not lost any matches. But that’s because he hasn’t been in any matches. He hasn’t been in any tournaments. The only time he gets to actually wrestle is during practice. At least, that’s what I thought.

I picked him up from practice last week, as I usually do. He got in the car, I asked him how his day had been, and he said, “Fine,” as he usually does. I pulled out of the parking lot and began driving home. And then he said something that made me want to sob.

“I think there must be an odd number of people on the team, because whenever it’s time to pair up for practice, I always end up without a partner.”

He had said it with trust and diplomacy, without blame, and without self-pity. But I could hear his underlying disappointment. I could hear the frustration he’d learned to suppress from years – a lifetime – of being left out. Of not being understood. Not being accepted.

A few weeks ago, it was proposed by his case manager and the coach that we reduce his time at daily practice because he was complaining of being too tired to do his school work, and I had agreed. But I didn’t know that he was being excluded during practice, and I wondered how long it had been going on. I took a deep breath.

“Have you talked to the coach about it?” I asked. As much as I want to jump in and be mama bear, I am trying to hold back and give him the support to advocate for himself.

“Yes. But I don’t remember what he said.”

“Well, maybe you could talk to him about it again, and suggest to him that if there is an odd-numbered amount of people, that perhaps a few could rotate. Since you leave early, you could work with someone first, and then when you leave, the other person would get their turn.”

“Hey, that’s a good idea,” he said with interest. “I think that would work.”


Five days later, I ask Nigel if he’d talked to the coach again, and if he’d been getting a partner at practice.

“Yes, for a little while,” he says. “But I’m starting to think that this being thrown around all the time is too hard on my body. Wrestling’s not how I thought it would be.”

This is new information, and part of me suspects that he’s trying to talk himself out of wrestling because he hasn’t been in any matches or tournaments. I remind him that the first season is a learning season for everyone, and ask him if he would like me to talk to the coach about making sure that he gets to do at least one match before the season is over. He declines my offer. I remind him that he’d been wanting to do this since he was a little kid.

“Yeah,” he says. “And I did it. I wanted to be on the high school wrestling team, and I am. That’s all I really wanted to do, besides inventing a time machine and being the first human on Mars.”

And it hits me – he just wanted to be on the team. That was his dream. Not finding his niche, or going to state championships or nationals – those were my dreams. And as long as he’s happy that he followed his dream, that’s all I really care about. I put my arm around him and tell him how proud I am of him. I ask him if he’d like to continue practicing the remaining four weeks of the season.

“No. I just don’t think wrestling’s my sport. It’s too painful. But I’m glad I tried it, despite the fact that it wasn’t what I thought it would be.”

I tell him that I’m glad that he tried it too, and then we go over what he should say when he calls the coach to tell him that he’s not going to do wrestling anymore. I remind Nigel that he should tell the coach thank you for the opportunity to be on the team, and that it meant a lot to him.

It meant a lot to me, too.

A Little Boy’s Dream

What kind of shoes are these and what’s the seven-year story behind them?


Picture a little boy, four years old, with wavy, light brown hair and captivating hazel eyes, who cannot talk. He tries to play with other children by bumping into them and laughing. He doesn’t know how to play, but he tries. He sees children laughing and playing together as a group, so in his mind, he thinks they are bumping into each other, and he believes that this is the way to play. The other children don’t understand. They think that he is being mean, that he is pushing them and laughing at them. All he wants is to join in. And he craves physical contact to meet his proprioceptive needs.

Picture the same little boy, now in second grade. He is talking, although he still exhibits echolalia and mixes up pronouns and word order. This, along with his sensory issues and behavioral challenges, makes it rather difficult to have friends, but he still tries, usually by initiating physical contact. One day, while on a class field trip (accompanied by his one-on-one aide) to the local high school, he visits the Wrestling Room. He is entranced. Though not able to verbalize it yet, he consciously vows that he will attend this high school and be on the wrestling team.

Now picture that same boy at age fifteen. His darker brown hair has developed more pronounced curls, but his eyes are still as captivating. He has learned, through social skills classes and personal experience, that physical contact is best reserved for roughhousing with friends that he’s known for a long time. Then the day comes, two months into his freshman year, when he signs up for the wrestling team. He comes home from school and tells his mother, using perfect sentence structure, that he needs to get a physical done as soon as possible so that he will be allowed to “get on the mats” at practice. He reminds her of how he’s waited seven years to be on the high school wrestling team, and she tells him that she remembers. She remembers that day so long ago when she picked him up from school and his aide told her about the field trip and how much he loved the Wrestling Room. She remembers the various elementary school Christmas Programs that were held at the high school over the years and how, even though her son couldn’t be in the program because of his sensory issues, they would walk by the Wrestling Room and he would tell her “That’s what I am going to do when I go to this high school.” And his mother, not sure if he could ever comprehend the rules of a sport and actually be on a team, but wanting to be supportive, would say in a positive tone, “We’ll see!”

They get the physical done, they buy the wrestling shoes, and the son starts diligently attending practice every day after school. They go to the Parent Night, and the mother approaches the coach at the end of the meeting to introduce herself. She is already impressed by the fact that, during the meeting, when her son asked a question that was a bit self-explanatory, the coach had answered him with genuine respect and patience. So she goes up later and shakes his hand and asks if he is familiar with her son’s IEP for his autism. And the coach assures her that, yes, he has spoken with her son’s case manager and is aware of his challenges. Then he tells her with such sincerity how well her son is doing. And the mother fights a lump in her throat as she tells the coach, “He’s been wanting to do this for a long time,” and thanks him, very much.

Now picture the little boy’s mother picking him up from wrestling practice the next evening. She pulls into the parking lot and sees his lean frame striding toward the car, wrestling shoes in hand. It strikes her that her son is on a sports team for the first time ever. And now she is picking him up from practice, just like all the other parents do with their sons. She sees a huge smile on her son’s face as he nears the car. The lump returns and her eyes sparkle with tears. He has followed his dream and achieved his goal. He is on the high school wrestling team, and he loves it.

He gets in the car and excitedly tells his mother about the techniques he is learning and how he’s already pinned two people at practice! The mother, hoping that the darkness is hiding her watery eyes, tells him how proud she is of him. She asks him if wrestling is everything he thought it would be. “Well,” he says, “I didn’t know we would have to learn tactics. But I like learning by doing.” She asks him what his favorite part is about wrestling. “That I get to meet new friends. And they understand me.” The mother, hoping that her voice isn’t shaking too much, tells him how great that is. And how glad she is to hear it. All those years ago, he knew exactly what he needed.